


Dark in My Imagination

by Sundance201



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub, Domme Molly, F/M, Face Slapping, Figging, Hair Washing, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Riding Crops, Safeword Fail, Service Submission, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundance201/pseuds/Sundance201
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never in a million years would Molly Hooper have expected this from Sherlock Holmes.  But he makes her an offer she can't refuse.  </p><p>AKA that one time I lost my mind and decided to re-write all of series 1 & 2 with Molly and Sherlock in a D/s arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Study in Pink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broomclosetkink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broomclosetkink/gifts), [Lono](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lono/gifts).



> So I've been writing this fic forever (and it's still not done yet), but I wanted to give the phenomenal broomclosetkink something for her birthday and she'd mentioned before that she'd be interested in reading this whenever I posted it.....so I posted it! 
> 
> I'll fully admit that I've never been in a D/s relationship before, so everything in this fic comes from research - so concrit and guidance is always appreciated. 
> 
> Nothing you recognize belongs to me. The title is from a song of the same title by the band Of Verona.

Molly rolled her eyes as she fixed Sherlock’s coffee. He damn well knew that she was asking him for a date. It wasn’t unheard of in this strange quasi-relationship that they had embarked on a few months ago, but it was the first time that she had actually asked him. Usually they set up a time and date and would agree to coffee before heading back to one of their flats. Lately, it had been hers, since Sherlock was in the middle of moving. He’d told her that he was looking for a flatmate, so it might have to start being exclusively hers, which she was fine with. She felt more in control in her own space.

And the strange relationship she had with Sherlock Holmes was all about control. All about stripping Sherlock of control, until he was broken down and floating happily in his headspace, away from the usual racing that went on in his head. All about taking care of the world’s only consulting detective. 

She hadn’t planned to play the dominant to Sherlock’s submissive. It had just sort of happened that way. They’d worked together for years without much of an issue. Molly had a crush on Sherlock, of course, but who didn’t? For the most part, she kept it together around him. But one day she had slapped his hand away from some of her cultures and told him in a stern voice to not touch them and he had, quite surprisingly, obeyed. He had been oddly accommodating for the rest of the afternoon that he had spent in the morgue. 

Molly had gotten home that night to an email from Sherlock, asking her to dinner the next evening to discuss an arrangement. At dinner, he had deduced her obvious crush (which she had blushed through and tried her best not to completely melt into her seat with embarrassment) and told her that he was offering her an intimate relationship of sorts. He trusted her, he explained, and he couldn’t share this relationship with someone that he didn’t trust. But it was something he needed, something that had been desperately missing in his life. 

He needed it. He craved it. Submission.

The admission had surprised Molly. The last thing that would come to mind when describing Sherlock Holmes was submissive. But he went on to explain that it was incredibly freeing to give up control to someone else – to have someone else have the helm for a little bit, as he described. That was why, he told her, that he could only do it with someone he trusted. The submission wouldn’t be complete if he was always waiting for the other person to take advantage, always waiting for something to go wrong. He’d worked with Molly for years and he had a great appreciation for her work. He knew she was thorough, precise, always prepared, and most of all, he had said with a smirk on his face, she was interested in him. She would be fully focused on him. He could trust his body in her hands. 

She’d been mildly embarrassed that she was so easy to read, but she was also incredibly flattered. He’d taken her request for a few days to think remarkably well. Even though her heart and …other parts were screaming to take him up on his offer, her head thought a bit differently. She’d never been involved with someone that she worked with. And well…dominant wasn’t exactly the first adjective that came to mind when a person was asked to describe Molly Hooper. 

But ultimately, she couldn’t turn him down. His deduction had been correct. She was in love with him (even though she would never tell him that) and she’d do anything for him. And if this…relationship, arrangement, whatever it was brought her one step closer to Sherlock Holmes’ ever elusive heart? She couldn’t pass up the chance. 

They met sporadically, usually when Sherlock was bored or when he was coming off a case. Occasionally he would text her in the middle of a case, if he needed to clear his mind and found himself unable. He was always the one to contact her, she never contacted him. She’d punish him for any missteps she’d seen him perform and then reward him for his good behavior. Even though it was routine, the acts they engaged in were never the same. 

Molly had done her research when she first agreed to be Sherlock’s Domme. She’d looked into a whole slew of different acts, watched videos from sites that she was certain would give her computer viruses, and had even ordered a few books from the internet. She knew that boredom was Sherlock’s enemy and that he would be coming to her to help keep it at bay. She couldn’t disappoint him. 

She peered down at the black coffee in her hand as she dumped in another sugar. You wouldn’t think that just last week she’d flogged Sherlock Holmes mercilessly and then laid him across her lap while she filled him with his favorite purple dildo until he begged for release. Nope. In fact, she seemed a little bit like the submissive in the relationship, bringing him coffee just the way he asked, with a little bit of a smile and a blush. Molly sighed as she wiped the useless lipstick from her mouth with a napkin and picked up Sherlock’s coffee, taking it up to the lab. 

“Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you,” Sherlock said as she handed him his cup. She glanced briefly over to the unfamiliar man with the cane, but didn’t have a chance to ask about him as Sherlock addressed her further. “What happened to the lipstick?”

“It wasn’t working for me,” she replied nervously, wringing her hands together. 

“Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth’s too…small now.” He turned away as he was speaking, taking a sip of coffee. Molly didn’t know what to do. Before they’d gotten….involved or whatever they were calling it, she wouldn’t have had any issue calling Sherlock out on his rudeness….well ok, maybe she’d still have a bit of trouble. But she’d never had a relationship with a co-worker before. She had no idea how to act around him! So most of the time, she ended up acting like a mouse. Little Mousy Molly, she’d heard some of the lab techs call her, at least when Sherlock came around. 

“Ok,” she muttered, too embarrassed now to even think about introducing herself to the other man in the room. She couldn’t even look Mike Stamford in the eye. He had noticed the shift in her attitude a few months before, how she’d suddenly become meek and stuttering when around Sherlock, but hadn’t approached her about it. He probably assumed, as most did, that she simply had a crush on him. Which was true. But he didn’t know that she also had him on his knees regularly, obeying her every order. 

She hurried back down to the mortuary, groaning and resting her head against her desk in defeat. Sherlock knew what he was doing when he did things like this. He had to. He had told her that he did well with punishment and then pleasure, so that was usually what they stuck to; but apparently, he liked to feel as if he had earned his punishment. Honestly, Molly had been incredibly uncertain at first. She wasn’t really much of a sadist by nature. But Sherlock had encouraged her to use more force and now, four months into their arrangement, she had a pretty impressive range of knowledge about Sherlock’s pain tolerance. She was always attentive and could tell exactly when to pull back, when the pleasure/pain signals would cease and simply pain would begin. She didn’t like exploring that territory with Sherlock and they’d had discussions about her boundaries, as well as his, so he understood. 

Finally lifting her head, she looked over at the body of her former co-worker, the body that Sherlock had just beaten with the riding crop. The riding crop that sat right next to it, clearly forgotten. She picked it up and shook her head slightly. This was the exact same model he had bought for her when they first started their arrangement, clearly a favorite of his. 

Turning, she went to fetch her notepad to start making observations about the bruises forming, when Sherlock suddenly entered the room, his big coat trailing behind him. Molly glanced up at him. “Forget something did you?” She held out the crop that she still held in her hand. It was so tempting to give him a quick smack with it, but Molly quickly quashed that idea as she remembered how violently he’d been beating the corpse. “Looks rather familiar, Sherlock,” she muttered, lowering her voice slightly.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise, clearly fighting his automatic response to lower his head at her tone. “Yes, I suspect it would. I buy only the most quality of products.” Molly inched closer to him and handed him the crop. He held it as if he was presenting it to her, not daring to fully pick it up. 

“I’m not pleased with what just happened, pet. Know that you will be punished for your disrespect accordingly at our next session,” she murmured, her voice soft, but her tone rough. Sherlock shivered and dropped his head. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he replied and Molly couldn’t help but grin softly, glad that he couldn’t see. She did love him like this. She always loved him, but particularly when he was like this. 

“Good. Now go on.” She stepped back and resumed her normal cheery voice. “I’ll text you with the details of the bruising.”

Sherlock’s spine straightened immediately and his hand clenched around the crop, bringing it down to his side. “Good. Thank you, Molly.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left. Molly sagged against one of the tables, watching him go.

Sherlock had texted her the next day, saying that Lestrade had finally brought him in on that serial suicides case and he expected to have it solved within the next day or two. He requested a “date” at her place in two days time and she had told him the day was clear, that she would expect him at around 4. It was late enough in the afternoon that it allowed him to sleep after a post case high and depending on how long their session lasted, she could maybe convince him to eat something. 

Of course, the body of the murderer ended up on her slab the very next morning and Molly knew that Sherlock would be coming off his post-case high that day instead of the next, but he didn’t text her to reschedule. Apparently, according to Greg, Sherlock had acquired a new flatmate, one John Watson. Molly could only assume that it had been the man with the cane in the lab – she thought that she heard Mike mention something about him. She said a silent prayer for the other man – Sherlock Holmes was a difficult man to deal with on just a regular basis; she couldn’t imagine living with him. Although she was certain that their living arrangement would be a little bit different from the one he was probably setting up with John. 

He arrived at her place at 4pm, as agreed upon, the next day. She smiled blandly at him, taking a seat on her couch after she let him in. His shoulders were already hunched and he didn’t meet her eye – he was already taking himself into his submissive mindset. “Strip,” she commanded from her position on the couch. “Put all your clothes on that chair over there. Nicely. You don’t want to look like a mess when you leave.” She resisted the snort at the thought of Sherlock Holmes ever looking like a mess. 

Sherlock stripped off his clothing and Molly took a brief second to admire his body. She always allowed herself that one indulgence, actually staring at him the way that she wanted while he undressed. Once he was naked, he came over to where she sat without needing to be directed, and kneeled at her feet. Her fingers from one hand laced through his hair and tugged slightly. “Remember how I said that I’d punish you for the coffee incident?” He nodded slightly, careful not to move too much lest she pull a bit too hard on his hair. 

He yelped as her grip tightened and she pulled him down and across, so he was forced to catch himself on his hands so he didn’t fall. Molly smiled and released his hair. “Good boy. This is the position I want you in right now. I’m going to go fix myself a nice cup of coffee and you’re going to stay here and be my table. Got it?” He nodded silently and shifted his position slightly, flattening his back and spreading his legs a bit for more stability. 

Molly got up to where she had been brewing a new pot of coffee and quickly pulled out her favorite mug and went about fixing her coffee. She liked lots of cream and only one sugar. Once, Sherlock had commented that she put so much cream in her coffee she might as well just drink milk. 

She re-entered the living room and sat back down on the couch. “Move over a bit, pet,” she told him, pointing to where exactly she wanted him. Sherlock obediently moved locations and positioned himself again, waiting for Molly’s next order. She wrapped her hand around the base of the mug, thinking about whether or not to use a coaster. The mug was warm enough that he would definitely feel it, but it wasn’t hot enough to burn his skin. Carefully, Molly sat the cup down on the flattest part of Sherlock’s back. “Don’t you dare spill any,” she whispered to him.

With that, she sat back and flipped on the tv. She settled on some romantic comedy that she’d seen a million times, mostly because she knew that Sherlock would hate it. Sometimes she had a little more fun with him than maybe she should. Occasionally, she would take a sip out of her mug, but she’d always return it to his back. 

When more of the coffee disappeared and the threat of it spilling all over his back lessened, Molly began to touch him – just to make it a little more interesting. At first, she trailed a fingertip along his side before picking up her mug. His muscles had trembled with his concentration, trying to contain his giggles at her feathery touch along his sides. 

Once, as she was sipping from her now almost empty mug, she ran her foot over his half-hard erection, nudging gently at his balls. Sherlock had gasped and stiffened. Molly simply smiled. “You’re lucky that my coffee wasn’t on your back that time, pet,” she taunted, keeping her foot pressed against him, but not moving it. Carefully, she placed the cup back on his back. “Let’s see if you can keep still this time,” she whispered as her foot slowly ran along his erection. Sherlock moaned loudly, but didn’t move. “Good boy,” she whispered, taking the mug off his back once more and finishing the little amount of coffee left, finally setting the mug aside. 

Her foot continued to tease him and Sherlock squirmed a bit, knowing that the danger of further punishment had passed. “Very good, pet. You made such a nice table. I should use you more often,” she whispered to him. Her mind raced with the possibilities, but she pulled herself back into the present moment. “On your back, pet. Hands under your head.”

Sherlock scrambled into position and Molly smiled at his obedience. She never in a million years would have imagined that Sherlock would be such a good submissive, but looking at his practically blissed out expression told her just how happily he had given her control.

She ran her hands over his torso, taking time to circle his nipples with her thumbs. He groaned softly but stayed completely still and she wished that she had had the foresight to grab the new nipple clamps she had just ordered, but they were in her bedroom and she hated leaving a scene unplanned. Next time, she thought wickedly, as her hands moved down to stroke his cock. Sherlock moaned and his hips twitched, but he didn’t move. Molly bent down to his ear. “You’re being such a good boy for me today, pet. I’m impressed. You must really want to come. Do you want to come, pet?”

She watched as Sherlock licked his lips and just as he was about to speak, she squeezed, causing another moan to escape his mouth instead of his answer. Sherlock recovered quickly though and answered, “If you think I’ve earned it, Mistress.”

Molly’s grin was positively dangerous. “Oh, good answer, pet. I like it very much.” She shifted positions so that she was straddling his legs, giving her hands equal access to his erection. One hand drifted down to cup his balls, rolling them in her palm. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to let you come today after how awfully rude you were to me, but I think you’ve just earned it. Only when I say, pet.” He nodded slightly and she set to work torturing him. She wouldn’t make it easy for him, of course. 

She worked him steadily, tugging on his balls or gripping the base of his cock if she thought he was getting too close. He tried his best to stay still, but she could tell the closer and closer he got to the edge, the more difficult it was for him to still his movements. She looked up to his face. His eyes were tightly shut and he was biting his lip desperately. Sweat pooled at his brow, dampening his curls. Her lips quirked up in a soft smile – this was her favorite part. She loved seeing Sherlock Holmes like this, ready to fall apart, and know that it was because of her. He may not love her, but he trusted her and that was almost just as good. She leaned forward so her lips brushed his ear. “Now, pet. Come.”

Almost immediately, Sherlock stiffened and moaned loudly, his release spurting all over her hand and his stomach. Molly continued to stroke him through his orgasm, stopping only once he relaxed. He had a small happy smile on his lips and Molly was oh-so-tempted to kiss him. But that wasn’t what this arrangement was. Instead, she brought her hand up to his mouth and without any prompting, Sherlock began to lick it clean. Molly giggled slightly as his tongue brushed against the ticklish pads of her fingers and Sherlock’s eyes cracked open, meeting her gaze, as he happily sucked her pointer finger into his mouth. 

She got up to grab a washcloth from her bathroom, quickly wetting it with warm water. Walking back into the room, she knelt beside him again and gently cleaned off his stomach, wiping away all trace of his release. He hummed contentedly in the back of his throat at her gentle ministrations and she smiled again at him. 

It didn’t take very long for Sherlock to resurface, but she always loved to watch him bask in the freedom that his submission seemed to bring. He had told her when they started that he required very little aftercare, but he seemed to enjoy a little physical contact while he was coming out of a scene. She stayed kneeling by his side as he slowly came back to himself, running her fingers through his hair. A few minutes passed and he opened his eyes and sat up, once more almost fully Sherlock and no longer her submissive pet. “Thank you, Molly,” he muttered sincerely.

“Of course, Sherlock. Any time,” she replied, smiling. This was their usual exchange after a “date.” She knew it was a slightly unconventional way to wrap things up, but this arrangement of theirs didn’t exactly pay attention to convention. She stood up and offered her hand to Sherlock, pulling him up as well. He went over to the chair where his clothes were and began to dress again. Molly was leaning against the doorway to her kitchen, watching him. “Heard from Lestrade that you have a new flatmate.”

Sherlock turned to her and rolled his eyes. She could tell that it wasn’t malicious though. “Do you and the Detective Inspector always gossip about me, Molly?”

She rolled her eyes right back in response. “You were a blip in our conversation. It happens when you have a mutual acquaintance.”

His smirk was small, but amused. “Yes, I have a new flatmate. The man in the lab when you brought me coffee – his name is John Watson. He seems…adequate. Useful.”

She shook her head and laughed as Sherlock shrugged into his coat and looped his scarf around his neck. “I’m sure the poor man would blush at hearing your praise, Sherlock.” Pausing, she wondered if she should continue, tell him what she really thought… “I’m glad. Glad you found someone. You’re…you’re better when you have someone living with you.”

His eyes narrowed and Molly told herself not to blush under his scrutiny. She doubted that she was succeeding, but at least she was trying. “Better?”

“Yeah. You just…seem less bored. More…stable.”

“Less likely to experiment with illegal drugs and fall back into a heroin and cocaine habit?” he asked dryly. 

She knew that she had lost her fight with the blush, but found that she really didn’t care. Now that they were Molly and Sherlock again, not Mistress and her pet, she was accustomed to making a bit of a fool out of herself around Sherlock. “Yeah. That’s a good way of putting it.” 

“Mycroft thinks so too, even though he’d never say it. He already accosted John and offered him money to spy on me – John’s a bit slow though and didn’t take him up on his offer, unlike you.” Molly snorted as Sherlock shook his head in disappointment. She’d had a few dealings with the elder Holmes; luckily she’d been warned by Sherlock about him about two days before a large black car showed up outside of St. Bart’s for her. Of course Mycroft was aware of their arrangement, but Sherlock had made him swear that Molly had no type of surveillance inside her home – both for his sake of mind and her own. Sherlock, of course, had also been the one to suggest that she take the money that Mycroft would inevitably offer her; she did , but really only spent it on things for him and their time together. The bulk of it went into savings. It always amused Sherlock when Molly would show up with a new whip or toy when he knew that Mycroft, essentially, was paying for it. 

Sherlock’s hand was on the doorknob before he turned around to face Molly again. “You’re working tomorrow, correct?”

She nodded, moving a bit closer. “Yep. Usual eight hour shift. Morning, this time.” 

“Good. John and I will probably stop in at some point.”

“Right. Need to see the body of that serial killer? Honestly, I was surprised you weren’t in today,” Molly said, watching curiously as something strange and unreadable came over Sherlock’s face. 

“No, no, already know who was responsible for that. Have a few experiments to run; I’ll be up in the lab. It’d be convenient if you would stop in at some point to meet John properly.” Molly suppressed her laughter. It was like Sherlock wanted to get all his toys together in a room and have them play nicely with each other. 

“I’ll be there.” She smiled at him and he nodded, turning back to the door and quickly opening it. “See you around, Sherlock.”

“Good afternoon, Molly,” he replied over his shoulder, exiting her flat and pulling her door shut with a click.


	2. The Blind Banker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of "The Blind Banker," Molly decides that, as his mistress, she needs to address Sherlock manipulating her to get what he wants.

Two days after his visit to the morgue, Molly woke up with a text from Sherlock, requesting a date for early that afternoon. She immediately texted him back saying that was fine and smiled to herself as she thought about the scene that she had come up with for them. Obviously, she knew exactly what he was doing when he complimented her hair. He wasn’t an idiot. And just because she did what he wanted didn’t make her one either. 

But it was something that she could definitely address with him as mistress and pet. 

Even though it felt unnatural, she skipped the shower that morning and picked up around her flat a bit, debating about changing into real clothes before Sherlock turned up. But she didn’t see much of a point, since she’d just be taking them off shortly after he arrived anyway. 

She made herself some tea and ate a little bit before Sherlock arrived, his distinctive knock rather loud on her front door. Jumping up, she smoothed her hair slightly before opening the door for him. “Good afternoon, pet,” she greeted him, stepping aside so he could enter the flat. 

“Good afternoon, mistress,” he replied, falling into the familiar habit of stripping off his clothes in the entryway and placing them on the chair. She watched him, as she usually did, and couldn’t help but gasp slightly when he took off his scarf and coat and exposed the bruises around his neck. 

He looked up sharply at her reaction and something in his eyes told her that it was best not to ask about it now. She didn’t want to ruin the mood, so she nodded slightly and gestured for him to continue. She thought that his eyes shone briefly in gratitude, but it could have been a trick of the light. 

Once he was naked, he turned to her, his head bowed completely and waited for her orders. “Into the bathroom, pet. You’re going to help me get ready for the rest of the day.” She watched as his brow furrowed in confusion for a brief second before he turned to follow her orders. 

She smiled at him as they entered the bathroom. “Now then, you’re going to help me shower. You’re going to pay special attention to my hair, since it seemed to have caught your attention while you were on the case.”

He seemed to relax slightly, apparently thinking that was the extent of his punishment. Molly laughed. “Oh no, sweet pet.” She turned to the bathroom counter, where she had already laid out the things that she needed for the scene. She held the nipple clamps up to his face and took a certain amount of delight at the look on his face. “You’ll be wearing my new toy. And,” she said, grabbing the other goodie on the counter, “You’ll be wearing this as well.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened immediately at the sight of the smooth white prostate massager. Molly couldn’t help the smirk that spread across her face. “I see that you’ve deduced exactly what it is,” she murmured. “It’ll make it quite hard to focus on the task that I’ve assigned you, but I expect to be squeaky clean by the time we step out of this shower again. Now, undress me.”

Sherlock nodded and quickly began unbuttoning Molly’s pajama top, taking his time once it was off to fold it nicely and place it on the counter. His thumbs hooked around the band of both her knickers and her pajama bottoms and pulled them off, kneeling down to pull them away as Molly’s stepped out of them. He folded them as well and then turned back to Molly, his head lowered in submission. “Which one first, pet?” she asked him, holding up the nipple clamps with one hand and the massager with the other. 

He bit his lip briefly before answering. “The massager, mistress.”

Molly smiled and set down the clamps in order to pick up the lube that she also had sitting on the counter. She couldn't help but notice that his cock was already half-hard - it clearly he was rather eager to get started. “Interesting choice. Prepare yourself,” she ordered, handing him the bottle. “I’m going to get a few extra towels. I expect you to be ready when I come back,” she said, watching as he nodded silently. Before she left the room, she reached past him and turned the shower on so that the water would be warm by the time that she got back.

She grabbed two extra towels from the linen closet and then made a detour to her bedroom, smiling deviously as she headed back to the bathroom. The room was warm and humid and she looked to Sherlock, standing beside the counter, his gaze down. “Ready, pet?” she asked calmly, picking up the massager.

Sherlock nodded and turned, presenting himself to her as he grabbed onto the counter. Molly smiled and positioned the massager carefully, sliding it up into him. Sherlock’s grip tightened on the counter and he moaned as the massager slid into place. “Now, pet, before we get in, do you want to do this on your own or with some help?” She held up the cock ring that she had picked up in her bedroom. 

Sherlock glanced at it, panting slightly. He then shook his head resolutely. “No, mistress. I can control myself.”

Her fingertips nudged at the massager gently and he whimpered, his back arching. “You sure? You know there will be consequences if you come without permission.”

He bit his lip and nodded again. Molly smiled. “Alright then. Turn around so I can put the clamps on.” He did as she requested and turned, his arms reaching back to still support him. His bottom lip was still between his teeth as she reached out and tweaked his nipples. Carefully, she maneuvered the first clamp into place and then the second one. She could feel Sherlock trembling, barely keeping control. She tugged on the chain that ran between the two and smiled when he moaned. “Get in the shower, pet.”

He nodded and awkwardly made his way across the short distance to the shower. Molly stepped in behind him and they switched places so that Molly was directly underneath the spray. “Wet my hair, pet. Make sure that it is thoroughly soaked.” He nodded and went to work.

Once her hair was wet, she commanded him to start shampooing. Molly moaned as his fingers massaged her scalp and she grinned up at him. “You’re very good at this, pet.”

He returned her grin. “Once went undercover as a stylist, mistress.” 

Molly outright laughed at that. “Maybe I’ll have to use you for your services more often.” Sherlock didn’t reply with anything other than a smirk as he continued to massage the shampoo into her thick hair. She caught the chain that connected the nipple clamps with her fingertips and tugged on it gently, indulging in the hiss that escaped Sherlock. 

She let him guide her back under the spray as he rinsed her hair out. He then turned and bent down, reaching for her conditioner. The movement must have forced the massager to move as well, because Sherlock suddenly stiffened and moaned loudly. Molly grinned. “All right?”

Sherlock grabbed the bottle and straightened, turning back to her. “Fine, Mistress,” he replied through gritted teeth. Molly grinned and tugged on the chain of the clamps once more, just as Sherlock was pouring her conditioner into his hand. He moaned again.

He carefully combed the conditioner through her hair with his fingers. She stepped out of the spray as he did so and ordered him to let the conditioner sit for a few minutes. She began running her hands over him, barely skimming her fingers across his exposed body. His hips bucked towards her, his cock desperate for contact, but she carefully avoided it. 

“Did you have time to shower before you came here, pet?” she asked, running her fingertips across his collarbone. Sherlock nodded silently and she clucked her tongue. “Shame. I was looking forward to washing you myself. Later then. Time to rinse,” she said, tipping her head back and Sherlock stepped closer to rinse her conditioner out. 

She then ordered him to wash her body quickly, a task that he took to with enthusiasm. She didn’t often allow him to touch her, so it was a treat (for both of them really) to allow him access to her body like that. As soon as she was clean, she tugged on his clamps once to get him to stop and then reached back to turn off the shower. “We’ll get out and dry ourselves off and then I’ll reward you, pet,” Molly said, pulling back the shower curtain. She hooked a finger around the chain of the clamps and tugged him forward and out of the shower, causing Sherlock to whimper as he followed. 

She quickly dried herself off and then carefully dried him as well. Reaching over, she closed the lid on her toilet and ordered Sherlock to sit while she quickly braided her hair so it wasn’t out of control as it dried. She watched with a smirk as Sherlock subtly rocked back and forth, his rock-hard erection bobbing against his stomach. As she tied off her braid, she reached over and grabbed his cock and grinned as he shuddered and moaned, bucking his hips up against her hand. “You must be absolutely gasping for me to finish you off, aren’t you, pet?” she asked, stroking him roughly.

Sherlock couldn’t even speak, he just nodded mutely – his mouth open and panting. Abruptly, she took her hand away and tugged on his nipple clamps. “Up, then. Into the bedroom.” He nodded eagerly and followed her out. “Lie down, pet,” she ordered and Sherlock scrambled to obey.

She climbed on top of the bed and lay down beside him on her side, one of her hands sneaking between his thighs and pressing against the little white massager. Sherlock groaned and twisted, his eyes shut tightly. She then trailed her hand up to stroke his cock. 

Time for the real point of his lesson, then.

Molly sat up and leaned over, starting to whisper in his ear. “I’ll do whatever you want, pet. You just have to ask me nicely. You don’t have to manipulate me to get what you want,” she said as she continued to stroke him. “For instance, you don’t have to compliment my technique to get me to take off these nipple clamps,” she murmured, flicking one clamp with her fingers and smiling at Sherlock’s groan. “You just have to ask.”

“Please, mistress,” he panted, squirming as she continued her merciless stroking. “Please take off the nipple clamps.”

“I do love to hear you beg, pet,” she said, her fingers coming up to release the nipple clamps. He actually shouted when she finally took them off and threw them onto her side table. “Now what, pet? Tell me what you want now?” Her strokes slowed and his hips bucked up in protest. He spread his legs and planted his feet on the bed, thrusting up in an attempt to get her to move faster. The change in position must have had an effect on the prostate massager as well because Sherlock suddenly yelped and his eyes shot open, looking to Molly desperately.

“Faster, mistress, please. I want to come. I want to come…” His head thrashed around as he confessed his need to her and Molly couldn’t help but smile. 

“What should I do to make you come, pet? What’s gonna get you to release all over yourself?”

He licked his lips and swallowed, his voice had been going hoarse from all the begging. “Faster. And more focus on the head. Please, mistress, please.”

“Good boy. I love hearing you tell me what you need, pet,” she bent down and brushed a kiss across his lips which he desperately returned, as her hand began to stroke just as he had asked. Within seconds, Sherlock was squirming beneath her touch once more, panting and begging for release again. Molly gave him a brief nod and smiled as he came with a shout. 

While he was still in his submissive mindset, she leaned over him to whisper in his ear, “Now what did you learn today, pet?”

He turned his head, his hot breath panting against her neck. “To ask…to ask for what I want, mistress.”

“Very good, pet,” she murmured, gently stroking his stomach with her fingertips. She continued her touch until Sherlock’s breathing evened out and his eyes opened. She reached down and carefully slid the massager out of him and placed it on the towel she had left on her side table. She wiped her hand off on the towel as well. Sherlock sighed with relief. She returned her hand to his chest, tracing lazy patterns across his skin until his eyes opened.

“Thank you, Molly,” he said, signaling the end of their date. 

“Any time, Sherlock,” she replied, smiling softly at him before hopping off the bed. “You can clean up in the en suite if you’d like. Clean the massager if you could, as well. We need to talk about our arrangement. I can make tea if you’d like.” She grabbed her dressing gown off the hook on the back of her door and threw it on. Sherlock was already halfway to the en suite when she turned back to him.

“Tea sounds fine,” he grumbled and Molly had to suppress her laughter. 

“I know you hate this time of the month, but it’s for the best, I promise,” she said, heading out into the kitchen and leaving Sherlock to his own devices for a bit. She dropped his clothes off in the bedroom while he was cleaning up in her bathroom. 

She grinned at him as he entered her kitchen, fastening the buttons on his purple shirt. He accepted the mug of tea that she offered him, made just how he liked it. He took a sip and smiled slightly at her in thanks. 

She had to admit that she was curious about the outcome of the case, but he seemed reluctant to talk about it. She was especially curious about the bruising around his neck that looked an awful lot like strangulation marks. But she also knew that they had to talk about their “contract” for lack of a better word, and that was always a challenge to get Sherlock to agree to. 

Basically, she had to know how to pick and choose her battles. And right now, talking about their dates was more important than finding out what happened during the case. 

Sherlock sighed as Molly booted up her laptop, rolling his eyes as she fixed him with a look. “I know you hate it, Sherlock. But I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page. When you just assume is when things go wrong.”

He waved his hand and took another sip of his tea. “At least you’ve managed to keep the minutiae to a minimum. I’ve dealt with dominants before that insisted that every single small detail of every scene be discussed. Tedious.”

Molly resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s how it’s usually done, Sherlock. If not every detail, at least the general gist of a scene. The way that we do it is rather…unorthodox,” she said as she pulled up the word document that she kept their agreement in. 

“I’ve never done anything the way that others do. Boring, Molly,” he said dismissively, slumping slightly in his chair. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

Their agreement wasn’t formal like some of the examples that she had found online when she’d done her research. It was more just a list of things that related to their arrangement and their dates. A small smirk appeared on her face as she noticed Sherlock rub absently at his chest, wincing. The nipple clamps had clearly been as effective as she’d hoped. “All right?” she asked and he looked up and returned her smirk before nodding his affirmative. “Ok, let’s start with limits. Hard limits are listed as scat play, permanent markings, needle play, bloodplay, and sharing. Your only soft limit is public play. Anything you want to add or take away?”

Sherlock shook his head and quickly answered, “No.”

Molly nodded, but before she moved on, she paused. “What I did in the morgue, with the riding crop, was that ok?”

He answered immediately. “Of course. We were alone, even though it was a public location. And just by calling me by my play-name in public hardly even qualifies, Molly. But I do appreciate your thoroughness,” he said dryly and Molly resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Sherlock often accused her of being far too worried when it came to their arrangement, but she wanted to make sure that she didn’t overstep any boundaries in this strange relationship. 

Most of their informal agreement consisted of the rules that Sherlock had set up around their relationship; they had talked about Molly’s preferences but hadn’t committed them to paper. For example, they’d never engaged in a scene where they’d had penetrative sex. It wasn’t that Molly couldn’t tell the difference between sex and love, but it would certainly…complicate things for her. She was already walking a fine line with this arrangement and she didn’t want to make it harder on herself than it already was. 

“Alright, moving on…safewords that we have in place?” Molly asked, looking up at Sherlock. 

“Standard. Yellow if I want you to be aware that we are brushing up against my limits and red to stop immediately. Honestly I’m not sure why we still have them in place, Molly. You’ve more than proven yourself capable of reading my reactions and knowing how to proceed,” Sherlock said and Molly fought the smile that she felt tugging at her lips.

“Because I like having them in place, Sherlock. Just in case. Ok, likes, dislikes, and never-agains.” She turned the computer to face him, rather than reading off the rather extensive list of activities that they had engaged in since their arrangement started. “Anything to add? Or anything you want to move around? I wasn’t sure where to put figging.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Dislike. An effective form of punishment but I did not necessarily enjoy it.” Molly nodded and added it to the dislike category. 

“Anything that you’d like to try?” she asked, her eyes leaving the screen and settling on Sherlock. 

He smirked at her, bringing the mug to his lips briefly before answering. “I think that’d be making it too easy on you, Molly. The whole reason that this works so well for me is that I have no idea what’s coming. I’ve told you that’s partly why submission works so well for clearing my head.”

She sighed and shook her head, scrolling down in the document. “I know that, Sherlock. You know you say that every time. I do remember,” she chastised and he chuckled at her seeming frustration. “So I’m assuming that our current routine is still ok with you? You contacting me to arrange a date and me planning it completely?”

“Yes, Molly, it’s all fine. I told you that these sessions are pointless. Almost nothing has changed. And you’ll simply force us to relive this all again in a month,” Sherlock huffed, getting up to go and refill his mug of tea. 

Molly chuckled slightly and saved her document, before closing her laptop. “It makes me feel better, all right? I like making sure that…you’re still happy with the arrangement.” It wasn’t a question, but Sherlock turned to her, his eyes a bit softer than they usually were. They weren’t quite how they were when he was submitting to her, but they weren’t the cold deducing orbs that they usually were. 

“I am very pleased with the arrangement, Molly. You’ve turned out, surprisingly, to be quite a sufficient Domme. It is not easy to find someone that will put up with my specific needs for a long period of time,” he said matter-of-factly, as he sat back down across from her. Suddenly, his eyes hardened slightly and she could tell that he was in deduction mode. “Are you pleased with our arrangement?”

She prayed that she didn’t start blushing, even though she figured it was in vain. Biting her lip before answering, she nodded slightly. “Yeah. I am. It’s…it’s fine. I’m happy if you’re happy.” 

Sherlock hummed a bit in place of a reply and took a sip of his tea, his focus not breaking from her. Molly shifted uncertainly under his scrutiny and grasped for a change of topic. “What happened to your neck? I’m assuming it was something to do with the case?”

His hand came up to brush against the skin of his neck absently. “Oh. Yes, it had something to do with the case. I had a run-in, two run-ins actually, with a rather unsavory smuggling ring. A member tried to strangle me.”

Despite her worry over his cavalier attitude on nearly being strangled to death, Molly couldn’t help but quirk her lips up in a grin. “Are there savory types of smuggling rings?”

His face became thoughtful. “No….I don’t think there are. I’ve never come across one anyway.” Molly laughed and she caught the twinkle in his eye that belayed his shared mirth. He picked up his mug and downed the rest of his tea before setting it back down on the table. He stood up and Molly followed suit, following him out into the foyer where he grabbed his coat and scarf. “Thank you again for indulging me on such short notice, Molly,” he said, as he put on his coat and looped his scarf. 

“Of course, Sherlock. Any time,” she smiled at him, leaning against the door as he passed through it. 

She expected him to leave as usual, but he surprised her when he turned around, a small smile on his face. “I truly do like your hair better parted on the side,” he said quickly. Not bothering to wait for her reaction, he turned and started down the stairs, leaving a blushing Molly in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically just hoping that this isn't turning out like 50 Shades of Grey-The Sherlock Edition. Hopefully my understanding of kinky relationships is a bit better. :P If you have any constructive criticism, I'd love to hear it! 
> 
> Next chapter is one of my favorites, dealing with the events of "The Great Game."


	3. The Great Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly deal with the fall out from the events in "The Great Game". Sherlock needs his mistress's help to absolve his guilt for letting Moriarty get to close to those he holds dear.

Molly was out on her second date with Jim when she saw the news about the explosion on Baker Street. They had met for breakfast before her shift started and she happened to be facing the TV when the story broke. She paled and excused herself to the bathroom, debating about whether to call or text Sherlock. What she actually wanted to do was run out of the restaurant and high tail it to Baker Street, but it didn’t look like the explosion had been in his building, so she assumed he would be all right. Please let him be all right, she thought to herself as she sent off a quick text.

_You ok? Just saw the news about the explosion. Tell me what I can do to help. –Molly_

She locked herself in a stall and put the seat down on the toilet so she could sit down. Only a few seconds later, her phone buzzed back in reply. 

_Fine, it was the building across the street. Mrs. Hudson is fine as well – John wasn’t home. Was bored without you last night. – SH_

Her eyes widened with disbelief as she read the text and then read it again. Was he really implying…

_Are you saying that you blew up the building across the street because you were bored without me?!?!_

She stared at the screen, as if it would help it receive a reply faster. Her phone buzzed again and she nearly dropped it in her eagerness to see what he had replied with. She knew that Sherlock was eccentric but she didn’t think that he would ever put other people in danger simply because he was bored and had no Domme to play with him. He was always the more self-destructive type, she thought. 

_Of course not, don’t be ridiculous, Molly. I have some self control. Don’t know who blew it up yet. – SH_

Molly started to type out a reply about how at least he wouldn’t be so bored now when her phone buzzed with another message. 

_Mycroft at the door. Talk later. – SH_

She giggled before firing off a quick reply. 

_Give him my love. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo_

Unlocking the door, she exited her stall and automatically started washing her hands. Her mobile buzzed in her pocket. Opening the door to the bathroom and walking back out into the dining room, she dug it out of her pocket to read Sherlock’s reply. 

_Don’t make jokes, Molly. – SH_

She giggled as she made her way back to the table. Jim looked up at her, concerned. “Everything alright, Molly love?”

Sliding back into the booth, she quickly pocketed her mobile and nodded. “Yeah, I just…that explosion, on the news? My friend, I know I’ve mentioned him, Sherlock? He lives right there and I just wanted to make sure that he’s all right. He says he and his landlady are fine and his flatmate wasn’t there at the time. Lucky though, that it was across the street. I’ll probably pop over there after my shift is done to see how the place looks.”

For just a second, Molly swore that something…malicious flashed across Jim’s face, but before she even had time to examine him further, it was gone and his pleasant smile was firmly in place. She shook her head. The morning excitement must have been playing tricks with her head. 

“Hey, I was thinking I could stop by and visit you some time today, if that’d be ok. Want to see you in action!” Jim said, smiling impishly at her and Molly couldn’t help but giggle. 

“Of course! I’d love to see you! I’ll uh…be back and forth between the morgue and the lab. If I’m not in one I’m probably in the other…” She bit her lip and shook her head. “That was stupid. Sorry.”

Jim chuckled and leaned towards her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought it was cute, Miss Molly,” he told her, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. Molly blushed and ducked her head. It was nice to flirt and have fun with a man like this…a man who was so different from Sherlock. Sherlock who looked at her like she held the world in her hands while they were on a “date” but who practically ignored her when they weren’t…she sighed and shook her head, turning her attention to the moment at hand. 

She was with Jim. And even though this was only their second official date (she didn’t count that time in the canteen for coffee), it seemed to be going pretty well. She liked Jim. He was…nice. Safe and unassuming. And when she looked at him, she didn’t feel like her heart was about to beat out of her chest – which maybe wasn’t the best start to a relationship, but safe and nice weren’t such a bad things when the closest thing to a relationship she’d had in the past few years was whatever the hell she was doing with Sherlock. 

Jim looked down at his watch and brushed another kiss across her lips. “We should probably get going; don’t want you to be late.” He went up to the front of the restaurant to pay and Molly smiled as she gathered up her things. She met him at the door and smiled happily when Jim wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

They chatted on the way to the hospital and Jim perked up when Molly said she’d been dying to try the new pub around the corner. “Let’s go there tonight!” he said excitedly. “It’s the only night that I’ll probably have off in a while…gonna be busy with work fairly soon.”

Molly beamed. “Yeah, sounds great! I’ll probably be pretty busy with work too. It sounds like Sherlock might have a new case and he usually comes in a lot while he’s working – God, I’m sorry!” she said, throwing her hands up to her face and blushing. “I feel like I’m talking about him an awful lot. I don’t mean to, it’s just…he sort of commands the attention of everyone around him. All the time.”

Jim smiled at her and she found his droopy eyes incredibly endearing. “It’s fine, Molly. I really don’t mind. He certainly sounds interesting.”

Molly nodded eagerly as they walked into Bart’s. “Oh he is. Maybe if you stop in today, you’ll get to meet him! I have a feeling he’ll be coming in.”

He nodded and leaned forward to brush a kiss to her cheek. “I hope he does. I’ll see you later, Miss Molly!” He turned towards the lifts while she turned to the stairs, going down the one flight to the morgue. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Molly was so upset with Sherlock that she could hardly see straight. She was hiding out in her office while he and Dr. Watson were still up in the lab, examining a pair of trainers that somehow had to do with the bomber on the loose who was taunting Sherlock. The detective and his blogger had shown up only about a half an hour ago and had briefly explained what was going on. Obviously, she’d offered up the lab equipment immediately. She’d left them to their work as she finished up some paperwork in her office.

Once she’d finished, she headed back to the lab and Sherlock had been about to tell her what he’d found when Jim had showed up. Molly could have sworn that she’d seen a flash of jealousy in Sherlock’s eyes when he looked at the other man, but she was certain that she was just imagining it. Especially after all that he had deduced about Jim…

She resisted the urge to scream as she dropped her head to her desk. She was sure he was right, of course. About Jim. Because heaven forbid that she actually have a nice normal relationship. No, instead she always picked the kleptomaniacs and the weird teddy bear guys and apparently the gay ones and well…Sherlock. Who was Sherlock and really couldn’t even be included on her list. 

A part of her told her that he’d only been so incredibly insulting because he wanted punishment – which she would more than willingly give him. But usually the little jabs he threw at her were gentler, more teasing than malicious. This time it was revealing her could-be boyfriend’s apparent sexual preferences and then her weight…she felt so stupid. She should have seen it. 

By the time she pulled herself together and headed back up to the lab, Sherlock and John were gone. She sighed and began cleaning Sherlock’s supplies. For a moment, she thought about texting him as his Mistress to let him know how displeased she was with his behavior, but remembered the blazing look in his eyes. He was fully submerged in this case and she knew that she probably wouldn’t even see him until he had it solved and the bomber was in custody, unless he needed to see a body or access to the labs. It was best just to wait until he solved it to dole out his punishment. Plus, that gave her time to cool down and get her head back on straight. 

She saw Sherlock briefly the next day, when he came in by himself and asked her for access to the lab. She had an autopsy to do, so she let him into the lab and went back down to the morgue. They didn’t talk, other than when he popped in about forty minutes later to tell her goodbye. One of her co-workers told her that he came in the next day as well to view Connie Prince’s body, but it had been her day off. At least he had been with Lestrade and John, so he wasn’t too insufferable. 

She didn’t talk to him again for another few days, giving her more than enough time to forgive him for the Jim debacle. She’d broken up with Jim during their date that night. She told him that it just wasn’t working, but didn’t address the fact that Sherlock had deduced that he wasn’t even really interested in her. He didn’t seem too disappointed, in fact, he had seemed fairly distant the entire night. But they had hugged at the end of the night and Molly had wished him well. 

The next time she talked to Sherlock, he was calling her at one in the morning. Molly groaned and looked over to her mobile, taking a bit to process exactly what was going on. “H’lo?” she muttered into the phone, squinting over to the clock to see the time. “Sherlock? S’wrong?”

“Are you all right, Molly? Have you had any contact with Jim recently?” His tone was urgent and Molly immediately sat up, trying to wake herself up.

“What? Jim…no I haven’t spoken to him since after the day he came in. I broke up with him that night. Sherlock, what’s going on?”

“Under no circumstances are you to talk to that man ever again, Molly. He’s the bomber.”

Molly rubbed her eyes and switched the phone to her other ear, certain that she must have misheard him. “He’s what?”

“The bomber, Molly. Just promise me that if he contacts you again, you will tell me immediately. John and I will be by the hospital tomorrow to explain more.”

Her head was absolutely spinning. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”

“And you’re positive you’re all right?” If she weren’t so confused, she would have smiled at the obvious concern in his tone. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Molly.” She heard the click, signaling the end of the call and took the phone away from her ear to stare at it in confusion. She put it back down on her side table and attempted to go back to sleep, but found that she was completely unable. 

Getting up, she padded out into her kitchen to fix herself some tea. As she waited for the kettle to boil, she walked over to the door to make sure it was locked. She was so confused and hoped that talking to Sherlock would help clarify a few things.

The next day in the lab, John was the one who explained most of the situation to her. For the most part, Sherlock sat in the corner and just watched her, watched as she cried in John’s arms and apologized for bringing Moriarty into their lives. John tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, but Sherlock still remained silent. 

She avoided him for the next few days. He came in twice with John and once without and somehow Molly managed to avoid letting him catch her alone. He had texted her a few times as well, but she’d ignored them too. 

She would have gone on ignoring him until her conscience was a little clearer, but apparently she wasn’t dealing with her feelings fast enough for Sherlock. He came around one night, practically banging down her front door. 

Molly sighed as she got up to finally answer it. It was late and she knew that if she didn’t let him in now he’d just go and pick the locks again and panic any of the neighbors that happened to be watching (her building was filled with busy-body old ladies and any sort of “racket” would draw their attention). Flinging open the door, she sighed heavily. “What do you want, Sherlock?”

He brushed past her and entered her flat, already making himself at home by stripping off his coat and scarf and hanging them up on her coat rack. He was carrying a small insulated container and set that by the door. She rolled her eyes and went to go sit back down on her couch, curling up and grabbing a throw pillow, clutching it tightly to her chest. “You’ve been avoiding me, Molly,” he said, rather dispassionately. Or at least that was what he wanted her to believe. But she could read his little tells, the slight wiggling of his fingers and the way that he subtly shifted his weight from foot to foot. He was nervous about this conversation. 

She decided that honesty was the best policy with Sherlock Holmes. Trying to get away with a lie with him was next to impossible and being anything but explicit about things would surely lead to disaster. She gestured for him to come sit next to her on the couch, which he obeyed. “Yeah, I have. I feel…guilty. After you and John came into Bart’s to tell me about Ji…Moriarty. I can’t,” she paused, trying desperately to collect her thoughts and blink back her tears. 

“I was the one that let him into your life. I practically gave him an engraved invitation! For God’s sake, Sherlock, I’m…I’m your domme and more than that I’m your friend, I’m supposed to protect you and I led that psycho straight to you!” She buried her head into her pillow, attempting as best she could to hide her tears from Sherlock. Much to her surprise, she felt his arms fold around her in a loose embrace. He awkwardly patted her back and she had to hold back her strangled giggles. 

“It is not your fault, Molly. I had been expecting him for quite some time. You did not bring him into my life; he was already there, waiting in the wings.” Molly lifted her head and Sherlock’s lips quirked up in an almost smile at her. “And just because you are my domme does not make you wholly responsible for my safety. Especially with the arrangement that we’ve made.” She smiled softly at him and nodded.

“I know all that, Sherlock. But I still feel guilty. I wish there was something…something I could do. I don’t know. I just feel awful,” she muttered, biting her lip. His arms had fallen away from her and he now had his hands folded in his lap. 

“You have admitted your feelings of guilt, so I feel that it is only fair to share mine as well. And…seek penance,” he murmured, his eyes suddenly lowering and Molly immediately knew what he was asking for. 

“Now? Are you sure, Sherlock?” 

He looked up to her briefly and reached out to grab her hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze. His eyes were pleading slightly with her as he responded, “Yes. Please, Mistress. I need it.”

Molly took a deep breath and nodded. She closed her eyes and tried to pull her domme persona around her. She opened them again and threaded her fingers through Sherlock’s hair, tugging his head back so that his throat was exposed to her. “I’m going to go into the bathroom to freshen up. When I come back, I expect you to be naked and on your knees by my chair and you’ll show me what you brought in your little container over there, alright, pet?”

Sherlock nodded as much as he could, with Molly’s hand still threaded in his hair and she gave a quick nod and released him, getting up to go to the bathroom down the hall. She splashed some water on her face and listened carefully as she heard Sherlock moving around outside. Taking a deep breath, she quickly pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail and got into her domme mindset. 

She wasn’t sure about playing with Sherlock right now – it seemed too quick to her. And she hadn’t had time to plan a scene for him. But she always had ideas and Sherlock seemed to need it. For some reason, he felt like she could absolve him of whatever guilt he was feeling; she could read it in his eyes. Sherlock needed this from her and if she was honest with herself, she needed this from Sherlock. Something to remind her that he was still here, he was still safe, he was still hers. 

She finally heard the shuffling cease outside and she took one last look in the mirror before heading out. Sherlock was naked and kneeling by her chair, just as she had ordered. The container was open and Molly peered inside as she walked over, a devilish smile spreading across her face as she realized what Sherlock’s container held. “Tell me, pet, why did you bring me this?”

She sat down in the chair and Sherlock immediately laid his head on her thigh, just as she had taught him to in the early days of their arrangement. “Because I deserve punishment, Mistress,” he said, seriously, almost sadly. 

Molly let her fingers thread through his hair once more, gently this time and he hummed his contentment and pushed into her touch. “What do you deserve punishment for, pet?” she pushed.

“For letting Moriarty get close enough to strap a bomb onto John. For letting Moriarty get close to you, Mistress,” Sherlock replied softly and Molly could tell that this wasn’t a part of any scenario. This was Sherlock actually thinking that he deserved punishment for Moriarty’s actions. She tugged on his hair until he slowly raised his gaze, looking up at her curiously. 

Her thumb came down to brush against the soft pink skin of his lips and she had to suppress her gasp when he gently kissed her. She was so tempted to break character and tell him that Moriarty’s actions were his own and if she wasn’t to blame for bringing Moriarty into their world, then neither was he. But she took a moment to truly examine him and she noticed the pleading in his eyes. He needed this. 

And Molly had promised herself she would always give Sherlock whatever he needed. 

So she nodded and then released his hair, pushing his head back down to her thigh. “Very well, then, pet. Get up and grab your punishment and follow me into the kitchen.” She stood and Sherlock followed, like a little puppy, trailing behind her to the kitchen. She grabbed her rubbish bin and pointed to a chair, which Sherlock obediently sat in. Grabbing a knife from the cutlery drawer, she placed it in front of Sherlock. 

“Do you remember how I prepared this for you before?” Molly asked, pointing to the ginger root wrapped in plastic in the container that Sherlock had brought along. He nodded silently and she smiled. “Good. You’re going to prepare yourself a nice plug from that root. I’m going to go and grab a few things from my bedroom. I expect you to be careful with that knife. We both know that bloodplay is off the table,” she teased and Sherlock smiled wanly at the attempt. “Get to work, pet.” She leaned down and whispered that in his ear and he grabbed out the ginger root, deftly unwrapped it, and picked up the knife, beginning to shave off the rough exterior. 

Molly quickly made her way into the bedroom, making a beeline for the two items she wanted. She grabbed them and walked back out to the kitchen, where Sherlock was still diligently whittling away at the ginger. Molly was pleased to see that the size of the root he had picked was thick enough so it wouldn’t break, but not thick enough to be too difficult to take. She smiled as she noticed him carving a notch towards the bottom of the root, shaping it just like his favorite anal plug. “Very nice job, pet,” she praised. Her hand landed on his shoulder and she swore that she could literally feel him warm with the compliment. 

She grinned and laid out the two objects she grabbed from her room on the table and watched Sherlock’s reaction. He winced almost automatically, knowing just how painful this particular punishment was going to be. “I’m going to give you a choice, pet. The crop, the paddle, or my hand. How many strikes depends on which instrument you choose.”

Sherlock licked his lips, his ministrations on the ginger root momentarily ceasing as he considered his options. “The crop, Mistress. Please.”

Molly picked up the black riding crop and gently smacked it against the palm of her hand. Sherlock winced and she noticed with a trace of amusement that his cock stirred at the sound. She had a feeling that he’d choose the crop, it was his favorite after all. “Good choice, pet.” She laid her hand on Sherlock’s neck as she inspected his progress with the ginger root. “I think that you’ve done a fine job on the ginger. You can stop now.”

He immediately laid down the knife and held his palm out to her, the ginger root on display for her. She picked it up and then stepped back. “Up, pet. Go wash your hands and then come back here and turn around and spread yourself.” 

Sherlock practically sprung from his seat and quickly headed to the sink to wash his hands, before coming back to the table. He bent over, his chest resting on the table as his hands spread himself, exposing his tight pink hole to her. She angled the ginger against him, smirking slightly at his immediate gasp as she pressed it gently against the tight ring of muscle. “Relax, pet,” she murmured, stroking his lower back. Slowly, the ginger root slid inside him, until it reached the little divot that Sherlock had carved out. 

Molly stood silently for a few moments until Sherlock started to tremble as the ginger worked its magic. “How does it feel?” Molly asked quietly. 

“It’s very warm, Mistress. It isn’t burning quite yet,” he gasped out, groaning as Molly ran her hand over his ass. 

She smacked his bum a few times, feeling him tense and squirm as the ginger started doing its work. “Stay just like this,” Molly murmured, stroking over his back now as well, as his chest remained against the table. “I’m going to warm you up with my hand first and then it’ll be fifteen with the crop. Understood, pet?” 

Sherlock nodded and clenched his eyes shut as Molly started his spanking. He whimpered with each hit; he tried not to clench around the ginger root, but that only made the spanking itself worse. The warmup was over fairly quickly and he couldn’t help but tense when he saw Molly pick up the crop. She stroked his reddened arse lightly, soothing him. The first hit was fairly gentle across the fleshy part of his arse, but Sherlock yelped in pain, the ginger plug definitely doing its job. “One, thank you, Mistress,” he gasped out.

At first, Molly was worried that fifteen with the ginger would be too much, especially since she wasn’t hitting him with the light swats that she would use if they were just playing with the crop. This was punishment and the force behind the crop reinforced that. She kept waiting for Sherlock to safeword out. But he never did. He gritted his teeth, wiggled, cried, and moaned almost constantly, but he kept counting for her. By the time they reached fifteen, he was practically sobbing out the words and Molly could tell that his legs were about to give out. 

“Good job, pet; good job,” she whispered, smoothing her hand over the marks that now covered his ass and the tops of his thighs. “I’m going to take the ginger out now and then you’re going to sit back down in the chair for me, all right?” Sherlock nodded slightly to show he understood. 

Molly rubbed his back with one hand as the other grasped the end of the makeshift anal plug and slowly pulled it out, throwing it into the nearby rubbish bin. Sherlock gasped and wiggled as the root was pulled out, and finally collapsed against the table in a sort of boneless relief once it was all the way out. He recovered quickly though and remembered Molly’s order, stumbling over to the chair he had sat in to prepare the ginger. He hissed as his bruised skin hit the hard wood of the chair, but he didn’t say a word. 

Molly smiled at him and trailed a finger down his chest to brush against his eager cock. The ginger had caused his blood to flow south, resulting in quite an impressive erection that was firm despite the punishment. She grabbed one of his hands, clenched on his thigh, and wrapped it around his cock. Moriarty had taken away all his control and he felt like he had to be punished for it. It was her responsibility to make him feel like he had some of that control back. “You’re going to get yourself off for me now, pet. I want to watch you come.”

He began stroking himself carefully, as if awaiting further instructions. But Molly didn’t say anything, she just watched him. Eventually he closed his eyes and began pumping his hips slightly, making helpless little noises in the back of his throat. Molly leaned forward and grasped his hair with one hand and cupped his cheek with the other, her thumb brushing against his lips. “Such a good boy,” she whispered, slipping her thumb inside his mouth as he continued to jerk himself off. 

She started to see the signs that his release was imminent and she didn’t see any reason to make him hold off any longer. “Come, pet,” she ordered and almost immediately Sherlock’s hips jerked up, semen spurting over his stomach. She watched him as he stroked himself through his release and then went boneless in the chair, his hand stilling in his lap and his head rolling back to expose his neck. She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his racing pulse, continuing to stroke his hair. 

He was still happily in his subspace and despite that fact, or maybe because of it, Molly started to whisper to him. “It isn’t your fault, Sherlock. None of this was your fault. John is safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.” Sherlock leaned forward without opening his eyes and rested his forehead against her chest. The shift in position caused him to wince slightly as his weight was redistributed on his bruised flesh. Molly noticed and winced in sympathy, cupping his face with her hands and tilting his head back so he was looking up at her. His eyes fluttered open, still hazy with his release. “Do you want to stand? So I can take care of your bum?”

He chuckled slightly as her nose scrunched up at her own choice of wording. He shook his head, dropping it back against her chest. “Not yet,” he murmured, his breath hot against her skin through her thin t-shirt. “Molly, can I stay with you tonight?”

This time, his head tilted back on its own. She could see Sherlock coming back to himself as he spoke. “I find you to be a very….comforting presence,” he told her. It was unspoken that he found himself in great need of comfort just then, but it didn’t matter because Molly could see it in his eyes. 

“Of course you can, Sherlock,” she whispered, tempted to use his other name despite the fact that the ice cold clarity that screamed Sherlock was returning to his eyes. There was also something incredibly fragile about him in that moment and Molly felt a rush of love for him. He was letting her see him like this. “I can make up the guest bed or…or you could sleep with me. In my bed, I mean.”

He smiled softly at her and nodded, stretching slightly and wincing again as his weight shifted. Molly sighed and tugged on his arm. “Up, Sherlock. Go into my bedroom and I’ll take care of you.” She chuckled as he pouted slightly at her, but obeyed. He didn’t bother to grab any of his clothing on the way to her bedroom and Molly couldn’t help but watch as Sherlock Holmes wandered naked through her flat. 

Quickly, she cleaned up her dining area and then went into her room. She winced inwardly when she saw Sherlock looking around the room with a keen interest. He’d never spent a long amount of time in there before and she hadn’t even thought about trying to clean up before he went inside – all her secrets were out there in the open for him to see. Surprisingly, he kept his mouth shut about it.

Or maybe she just ducked into the bathroom as he was debating about which embarrassing truth to speak out loud first. She reemerged with a warm wet cloth. He glanced over and immediately lay down on the bed, making it easier to clean him off. Swiping the cloth over his thighs and stomach, she took her time cleaning him. “Flip over,” she ordered quietly and he obeyed, folding his arms and resting his head on them, watching her as she disappeared into her en suite again. She rinsed the cloth and ran it under some cold water and grabbed a soothing salve before going back out into the room. Pressing the cold cloth to his burning skin, she bent slightly to look at him as he hissed. “Ok?”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah. Just stings. Nice job.” Molly’s lips quirked up in a smile as she continued her ministrations. She rubbed the salve into his flesh, smiling as he relaxed little by little under her hands. 

This seemed so intimate, taking care of him in her bedroom after playing. Usually he was up and gone right after their date concluded…it was strange to have him sticking around. But nice, she thought to herself, taking in the way that his body took up the entire length of her bed. Very nice. “I’ll go uh…grab your boxers so you can sleep in them,” she whispered, getting up off the bed. 

But Sherlock’s hand darted out from beneath his head to grab her wrist. “Sleep nude, Molly,” he murmured, already half asleep anyway. He then dropped her hand and grabbed the edge of the covers and wiggled around, ensconcing himself in her sheets. She tried her best not to gape at him. Sherlock, her Sherlock, the one who she was madly in love with and ordered around on occasion, was sleeping in her bed. Without a stitch on. 

Numbly, she turned to the bathroom to get ready for bed. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she wondered if this was crossing a line. It was one of her unspoken rules about this whole relationship that little intimacies like this were a no-go. She couldn’t let herself pretend that Sherlock was in love with her because when she came back to reality it would just hurt too much. 

But he needed this. She knew that as much as he did. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t. And what sort of a mistress would she be if she didn’t take care of her sub? Nodding slightly to herself, her actions justified, she went back out into her bedroom. She quickly changed into her pajamas (she couldn’t help but put on her nice ones, the ones she wore on the rare occasion she had company) and slid into bed, her back to Sherlock. 

Immediately, he rolled towards her and wrapped his arms around her, dragging her back against his chest. “Thank you, Molly,” he whispered into her hair.

Molly giggled and gently squeezed his forearm. “Of course, Sherlock. Sweet dreams.” She smiled when he didn’t let go. 

The next morning she woke up alone. She wasn’t surprised, honestly; she would have been more surprised if Sherlock was still there. There wasn’t a trace of him in her flat, which was also to be expected. He didn’t exactly seem the type to be leaving little missives around to remind her of his presence. But Molly smiled nonetheless and remembered just how perfect it was to fall asleep in Sherlock Holmes’ arms.


	4. A Scandal in Belgravia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mistress Molly is not pleased when she thinks that her pet has been seeing another woman - The Woman. Mistakes are made and conversations are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't even begin to tell you how much anxiety this chapter has caused me. Thank you to everyone who helped me through this chapter! I'm still not completely sure if I'm 100% happy with it, but I'm posting it anyway because I think I've just hit a wall with it. Hopefully you enjoy it! :)

The second that she arrived back in her flat, Molly all but ripped off the velvet dress. It had been a stupid idea to dress up for him. She was incredibly foolish, thinking that she could get Sherlock Holmes to see her as someone other than his mistress – to see her as a woman, especially one who desired him and knew exactly what he needed. But she had, naively, hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could get him to see it tonight.

She should have known better. Sherlock had been on edge for the past few weeks, but he wouldn’t tell her why. After the Moriarty incident, she thought that they were getting closer. Their dates stayed about the same, but outside of their dates, Sherlock seemed to be softer with her somehow. He would sometimes chat with her while they worked together in the lab, he seemed less tense around her. It was comfortable. Just before the party, he had confessed to her that John was leaving to be with his sister for the holidays and she could tell that he wasn’t pleased at the prospect of being alone. 

And she thought maybe they could spend it together. She hadn’t brought it up to him, of course, but hoped that maybe she could somehow convince him of it at the party. 

Stupid. It was so stupid of her.

She went into her bathroom to run a bath. She needed to think, needed to process what had happened tonight and how exactly she felt about it. 

It hadn’t been all awful. She liked socializing with Greg, John, and Mrs. Hudson and Jeanette seemed nice enough as well. And Sherlock…

He’d been dismissive when she first arrived – almost to the point of rudeness, but she was used to that. She made small talk with everyone, desperately wishing that Sherlock would turn and just see her. And then he did. 

She’d never wanted to disappear so badly. 

He was vicious with his deductions. It was a hundred times worse than what had happened in the lab with Jim. He had seen her, known exactly what her motivations were, but as he would even admit, he always missed something. And this time, what he missed was the fact that all her “long-term hopes, however forlorn” were focused on him. That the man she was dressing up for, wearing lipstick for, was him. 

That the man she was in love with, was him.

She shook her head and slid into the warm bath water, dunking her head quickly. She was rather proud of the fact that she managed to hold herself together. She was so tempted to either break down and cry in front of him, or go into domme-mode and turn him around for a thorough spanking. But she didn’t do either. 

Instead she told him that he always said such horrible things. She managed not to cry. She had to fight the urge to run out of Baker Street and never lay eyes on Sherlock Holmes again.

And then he apologized to her. He kissed her on the cheek. 

Her fingers drifted up to the cheek where his lips had brushed against her. He had pulled back and she could have sworn that she saw something in his eyes, but then his phone made that awful moaning sound and everything had gone to shit again. 

He’d tossed her gift onto the table and went to the mantel, picking up a small red box. He’d retreated into his room after that and hadn’t come back out. The rest of them managed to have a fairly decent time for about an hour, but the festive mood had been thoroughly ruined. Greg had offered to split a cab with her and she’d gladly accepted. He’d gotten rather drunk at Baker Street after Sherlock’s cruel deduction about his wife (soon to be ex, Molly assumed) and she wanted to make sure that he got home safely.

And now she was home. She wanted nothing more than to just get amazingly drunk and cry herself to sleep, but she couldn’t think of a more depressing way to spend Christmas Eve. She sighed, dunking her head again. It wasn’t like she had anything to be doing anyway. Not after her dream Christmas had been so cruelly ripped to shreds by Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

The water was growing cold already and Molly conceded defeat, getting out of the tub and reaching down to let it drain before grabbing a towel. She dried off and moved into her room, grabbing her favorite Christmas jumper and a pair of jeans. 

She would not let Sherlock Holmes ruin Christmas for her. She’d cuddle up on the couch next to Toby and watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ like she did every Christmas. Tomorrow on Christmas day, she’d call her mum and brother in America and pretend like everything was just fine. She was determined. 

And then her mobile rang. It was a number that she didn’t recognize, but her phone apparently knew it and displayed simply MH. “Hello?”

“Miss Hooper, I’m glad you picked up.” Molly swallowed a groan of disappointment as Mycroft’s voice filtered through the phone. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, but I was wondering if you could come into St. Bart’s.”

“Why?”

“There is a body that I am having sent there. Sherlock needs to identify it.”

Molly sighed and looked forlornly over at her couch. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, Miss Hooper. Oh and merry Christmas.” There was a click, signaling the end of the conversation and Molly tossed her mobile onto the counter. Toby hopped up and looked at her curiously. She scratched him behind the ears, smiling as he purred.

“Sorry, Toby. Have to go into work for a little bit. But then we’ll spend the rest of the night cuddled up on the couch, all right?” Toby mewed at her softly and she couldn’t help but smile.

The walk to St. Bart’s was short and the cold cleared her head marvelously. She could handle seeing Sherlock. Of course she could. She just had to keep repeating it to herself. She beat both the Holmes boys there and just barely beat the body that Mycroft had sent over. Two men entered the morgue, wheeling a body bag between them just as Molly was throwing on her lab coat. “Just put iton that first table, could you?”

The two men nodded and quickly moved the body for her and then nodded to her as they left. She went over and peeled back the sheet that the men had draped over the already nude body. Jane Doe’s personal belongings were sitting in a bag on the nearby table. The face was bashed up and she was taking a wild guess that the wound was cause of death. She wasn’t sure if Mycroft wanted her to actually autopsy the body or just be here so Sherlock could identify it, so she’d wait before touching the body further. 

She covered it back up and walked over to her desk, starting to fill out the paperwork for the body. At the very least, it would be sitting in her freezer overnight. She heard footsteps coming down the hall and she immediately abandoned her paperwork. “I had her brought here – your home from home,” she heard Mycroft say to Sherlock as they walked through the doors. 

Molly stood on the other side of the slab from them, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “You didn’t need to come in, Molly,” Sherlock said, his voice oddly soft. 

She attempted a smile. “That’s ok. Everyone else was busy with…Christmas.” She didn’t tell him that she’d always drop everything for him. She figured he could deduce that much anyway. “The face is a bit, sort of…bashed up – so it might be a bit difficult.” She peeled back the sheet and then glanced up at Sherlock to watch his reaction.

His face was completely blank. “That’s her, isn’t it?” Mycroft asked from his brother’s elbow. She wondered briefly how in the world Sherlock should be able to tell that from what remained of the woman’s face. He was a genius and noticed things that others couldn’t but could he really identify a body from a bashed-in face?

“Show me the rest of her,” Sherlock ordered coldly. She bit her lip nervously as she pulled back the rest of the sheet, glancing up again to see his reaction. His eyes ran over the body once and he gave a little nod. “That’s her.” With that he turned on his heel and left.

Molly felt like all the air had suddenly been sucked out of the room. “Thank you, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft said cordially.

“Who is she? How did Sherlock recognize her from…not her face?” she blurted out, suddenly desperate to know who this woman on the slab was. More specifically, who she was to Sherlock. 

Mycroft didn’t say anything but just smiled tightly at her and turned to follow his brother out into the hallway. She was left alone with the dead woman - Sherlock’s dead woman. 

“Who are you?” she asked softly, staring down at the naked body, as if she could deduce the woman’s identity like Sherlock had. She assumed since Mycroft hadn’t said otherwise, this mysterious woman was to be a guest in her morgue until his men came to collect her, so Molly decided to move the body into the freezer before finishing the paperwork for her. 

She managed to hold back her tears until she was home. 

Logically, she knew that Sherlock could probably identify anyone that he was familiar with. It was only a few months ago that he had pointed out her two and a half pound weight gain. But then that begged the question: who was she? She couldn’t have been an acquaintance of John’s because then John would have been with them. Someone from their past? She shook her head. No, then Mycroft could have come alone. 

Molly couldn’t figure it out. But Jane Doe must have meant something to Sherlock. She could read him and she knew that he was hurt somehow by identifying that body. 

She didn’t bother watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Instead, she got straight into bed and cried herself to sleep.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The Jane Doe incident passed and their relationship returned to even ground. Molly had promised herself that she’d try and distance herself from the bloody idiot, but that didn’t seem to work very well. He made a point of requesting “dates” regularly and would engage her in casual (as casual as Sherlock could get) conversation when they were in the lab or the morgue together. It felt oddly comfortable – Molly spent the next few months waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

And of course, it did. 

Sherlock came in by himself one day, after seeming a bit off all week, with something small and electronic that he waved in her face and then demanded the use of the lab equipment. She’d given him access and joined him up in the lab after finishing a few reports to see if she could help with anything. On her way up to the lab, she grabbed her phone. 

_Hey John, it’s Molly. Sherlock has something electronic here, a phone, I think – just making sure it doesn’t belong to someone we know before I help him examine it! ;) Hopefully it’s not yours!_

Greg had whinged quite a bit about how Sherlock had pickpocketed him and stolen his badge and handcuffs on a semi-regular basis. Molly just hoped that it wasn’t John’s phone – she knew that personal boundaries were nearly nonexistent when it came to Sherlock but she hoped that he hadn’t gone that far. 

She pocketed the phone as she walked into the lab, smiling as she saw Sherlock already absorbed in the electronic device. As she drew closer, she got a better look at what he was so interested in. “Is that a phone?” she asked, leaning against the counter. 

“It’s a camera phone,” he answered shortly. It was clear that it was for some important case; she knew that he didn’t usually react like that for anything else, especially around her.

“And you’re x-raying it?” 

“Yes, I am,” he retorted again. 

Molly sighed inwardly. She could tell that Sherlock wanted her to drop the subject, but John hadn’t texted her back yet and she did want to make sure that he hadn’t stolen someone’s phone who might be needing it back. “Whose phone is it?”

“A woman’s.”

The revelation that it was a woman’s phone was a bit of a punch to the gut. And Molly was so taken aback, that she couldn’t curb her first response. “Your girlfriend?” The second the words were out of her mouth, she wished that she could swallow them back in, but she couldn’t. 

Sherlock seemed to pick up on the jealousy in her tone, but he didn’t seem concerned. Of course, she thought to herself, why would he be? “You think she’s my girlfriend because I’m x-raying her possessions?”

She attempted to laugh it off, smiling brightly at him. She wished that she could just walk away, but it was difficult to ever walk away from Sherlock Holmes. “Well, we all do silly things.”

Suddenly a spark flamed in Sherlock’s eyes and Molly couldn’t help but straighten a bit. Even when she was upset with him (and she was – and getting more upset by the minute), she still loved seeing that moment when something clicked with him. “Yes, they do, don’t they? Very silly. She sent this to my address. She loves to play games.” He picked up the phone with a smile, typing in the code. 

“She does?” Molly hated how weak she sounded, as she watched Sherlock’s face fall as apparently the code was incorrect. He ignored her soft question and simply went back to examining the screen in front of him. Molly sighed and examined him for a little bit longer, trying to determine how to coax him into some sort of conversation, but it was obvious that it wouldn’t work. 

She gritted her teeth, swallowing a huff of frustration, and went off to the canteen, not bothering to ask Sherlock if he wanted anything. Clearly, the woman’s phone was an intriguing case and he never ate while he was on a case. As she nibbled at her sub-par scone and sipped at her tea, she couldn’t help but wonder if this had something to do with the woman that had wound up in her morgue so many months ago, the one with the bashed-in face. The one that Sherlock could recognize even though she was completely naked.

Just then, her mobile buzzed and she saw that John had replied. _Nah, it belongs to a woman named Irene Adler…she’s involved with a case of ours. Thanks for the concern though._

And just like that, Molly’s stomach dropped. Irene Adler. She recognized the name – of course she did. Even if it hadn’t been all over the tabloids last year, she’d done her research when Sherlock had first requested her assistance; Irene Adler’s website had been one of the first ones that she had found when she had done a search. 

She threw away the rest of her scone and tea and marched back up to the lab, hoping that Sherlock would still be there and she could confront him about it. Certainly there must be some sort of explanation. But the lab was empty. She went down to the morgue as well, just in case, but he wasn’t there either. She trudged into her lab and all but collapsed in her seat. 

It all made sense now. The moaning text alert, the gift at Christmas, the body (although that part didn’t quite make sense, since clearly Irene Adler was alive and well…). Clearly, Sherlock Holmes had rather intimate knowledge of Irene Adler. And why shouldn’t he? She was the best at what she did - Sherlock would have been a fool not to take advantage of her services. 

Molly felt tears welling up in her eyes and she hated herself for it. They’d never agreed that their arrangement was exclusive. She supposed she just assumed, especially since Sherlock had kept their dates rather frequent. But obviously she wasn’t quite meeting his needs anymore. How could she even compete, with Irene Adler in the picture?

Just then, her mobile buzzed again and even though she was in no mood to talk to anyone, she picked it up on instinct. Her breath caught when she saw who it was from. _Case is frustrating – need to clear my head. Date tonight? SH_

Her fingers flew across the keys before she even had time to think about whether or not it was a good idea to accept while she was so emotional. _My flat at 8. Don’t be late, pet._

Her shift wasn’t over for another thirty minutes, but she knew that Mike wouldn’t mind if she cut out a bit early, especially since she had been staying late so often. She packed up her bag and headed home, torturing herself by replaying what happened at Christmas over and over again in her head. When her brain had finally worn out that particular memory, she focused on the exchange that had just occurred in the lab – his utter disregard for her, his smug grin when he mentioned Irene…by the time that Molly got home, she was absolutely fuming. 

She knew that it wasn’t a relationship. She wasn’t an idiot. But she at least expected Sherlock to tell her if he was involved with someone else in the same way – especially if that someone else was Irene bloody Adler! She quickly heated up some of the leftovers in her refrigerator and ate, before hopping into the shower. She had about an hour before Sherlock arrived and she wanted to look perfect when he did. 

He arrived almost five minutes early, but Molly was prepared and waiting for him. She’d pulled her hair back in a slick ponytail and donned a black corset, black lace knickers, and a filmy black dressing gown for the occasion – it was something that she had bought on a whim, coincidentally seeing something similar on Irene Adler’s website. She imagined, rather viciously, that Sherlock would enjoy it. 

He started undressing immediately, as was their usual routine, before he even glanced up at her. She couldn’t help but feel smug as she saw his cock give a distinct twitch as he took in her appearance, before dropping his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry that the case is giving you trouble, pet,” Molly murmured, standing up from her place on her couch and walking over to him, trailing a finger along his chest and down to his abdomen. “Let’s see what we can do about clearing that head,” she whispered, before briefly grabbing his cock and squeezing. Sherlock gasped, but stayed still. “Into the kitchen, pet. Hands on the kitchen table. You won’t be able to sit down when I’m done with you,” she snarled into his ear. 

Obediently, Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen, with Molly close behind. He assumed the position that she had wanted, his hands on the table, his arse sticking out, and his legs spread with his half-hard cock hanging between. Molly couldn’t help her wicked grin. He was completely at her mercy and she wanted to make him hurt. 

She didn’t want to be Molly anymore. Molly cried over a man who would never love her; Molly was weak. But when she was her pet’s Mistress, she was in control. Mistress would never feel inadequate or feel sick over being betrayed by a relationship that wasn’t even really a relationship. No, Mistress had a very clear-cut relationship with her pet. She owned him. She did whatever she wanted with him. She punished him when he deserved it. And right now, her pet deserved it very much. 

She scraped her nails down his back harshly and Sherlock gasped, but didn’t move. “Sweet pet, so well trained,” she murmured to him, digging her nails into the flesh of his arse next. “Such a shame that you’re still such a brat. You’ve been very naughty, pet. I think that you deserve quite the spanking.”

She saw the furrowing of his brow for a moment as he tried to recount what exactly he had done wrong, but she knew that he’d never figure it out. Instead, she started his spanking. Not even bothering with a warm-up, her palm smacked his flesh with a rather wicked amount of strength. Sherlock whimpered, his hands curling into fists on her table. She dug her hand into his curls and wrenched his head back. “You don’t have to count, pet. You won’t have time.”

With that she released him and immediately smacked him again, just as hard. She knew, logically that she wouldn’t be able to keep up the same amount of force forever, but she knew that her anger (at herself, at Sherlock, at Irene Adler) would prolong her strength. 

She barely noticed that she started speaking to him. She was caught up in the rhythmic slapping and the words just started to flow out of her, as if she’d forgotten that there was an entire person attached to the arse she was abusing. Except she couldn’t ever forget because it was Sherlock Holmes in front of her. “Why didn’t you just tell me about her, pet? I would have understood. I wouldn’t have expected you to resist. How could you?”

“Mistress?” he questioned, his voice breaking on the word. Molly didn’t reply to him, instead she slapped his inner thigh, making him whimper. 

“Did I give you permission to talk, pet?” She was breathing heavily as she continued to put all her strength into his spanking. “Was she better than me, Sherlock? Did she fulfill all your needs better than I can?” She was furious with him and with herself. This wasn’t supposed to affect her – they’d started this because Sherlock had a need and she could fulfill it. She should have known it was a bad idea. It was stupid of her to think otherwise. 

Her hand had started to smart, but she barely paid it any attention. “Tell me, Sherlock, what did she do to you? Did she make you cry? Did you bleed for her? She probably did things with you that I’ve never even heard of. God, why did you even string me along? You had Irene fucking Adler dominating you, what possible use could you have for me? Or was this just another game to you? Did the two of you have a laugh over poor, deluded Molly, thinking she had what it took to keep Sherlock Holmes entertained?” 

Abruptly, she stopped spanking him and with a firm hand on his shoulder, spun him around so he was facing her. His hands automatically landed on the table, bracing him against it. Her hand wrapped around his limp cock and she stroked it mercilessly, frustrated that he wasn’t responding. “You can’t even get it up for me anymore, Sherlock! I suppose I’m not surprised. I must seem like yesterday’s rotten leftovers.” It occurred to her on some level that she had slipped into calling him by his first name instead of “pet” but she was so upset that she hardly noticed. 

“Molly,” he murmured, trying to get her attention. “Molly, red.” He said his safeword, slowly, deliberately as he reached out to her in an attempt to get her attention. She dodged his touch though and acted on instinct. 

She slapped him.

The room was silent except Sherlock’s heavy breathing and Molly’s erratic breathing. Her jaw dropped as she stepped back from him, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god,” she murmured, her eyes wide and horrified. “Oh my god.”

She stumbled back, forcing herself further away from him. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry.” There was a red handprint forming on his cheek and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. “I didn’t mean to…oh god.” She started shaking her head and she looked down, avoiding his gaze at all cost. He moved towards her but she stuck her hand out and he stopped. “Sherlock, I think you need to leave now. I can’t do this. I never should have started. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I can’t.” With that she turned and fled into her bedroom.

She sat on her bed, numbly, as she heard Sherlock move around outside her bedroom door. His footsteps moved closer to her, she imagined he was right outside and her heart seized at the idea of him coming inside her current sanctuary. She couldn’t handle it. 

But luckily, they moved away again and soon after, Molly heard her front door open and shut. 

If this were any other situation, she was certain that she would be a sobbing wreck right now. But she was strangely numb. She had well and truly lost it this time. Her jealousy had blinded her and she had slapped Sherlock. She had embarked on their date while she was angry with him and had used her position as his Mistress to take it out on him. He had even said his safeword before she slapped him… Suddenly she felt sick and she barely made it into her bathroom before she started retching into her toilet. 

For the first time since the start of their arrangement, she had really and truly wanted to hurt him. Hurt him like he had hurt her at Christmas – first by mocking her and then by recognizing Irene Adler by not-her-face. She wanted him to know what it felt like to be broken apart. She ignored the rules that they had set up for their relationship and had deliberately hurt him just because she could. 

She brushed her teeth and retreated into her bedroom, curling up on the bed. She was the lowest of the low – Sherlock trusted her to take care of him and she’d abused that trust. She’d abused him. And then she’d just thrown him out.

Suddenly, she sprung up and reached frantically for her phone. She’d read about a phenomenon called sub-drop when she’d been doing her research, which happened when a dom didn’t properly administer aftercare to their sub after a scene. Sherlock had never required much aftercare before, he’d specifically told her that when they first started their arrangement, but she’d never just kicked him out of her flat in the middle of a scene before. 

She agonized for a few minutes over what to tell John. Finally, she decided to keep it as vague and simple as possible. _Hey John, it’s Molly. I just saw Sherlock and he seemed a bit out of sorts – just wanted to let you know so that you could keep an eye on him._

Nibbling nervously at the side of her thumb, she laid back down, staring anxiously at her phone as she waited for his reply. A few seconds later it buzzed. _Thanks for the heads up. He’s been acting a bit strangely lately anyway, but I’ll watch out for stranger than normal behavior. Whatever that means when it comes to Sherlock._

It was early, but she was exhausted. Acting on auto-pilot, she trudged into the bathroom to wash her face before climbing into bed. Curling around her pillow, she fell into an uneasy slumber.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

She took the next few days off of work, telling Mike that she had come down with a cold. Sherlock tried texting her a few times, but she never replied. She barely even looked at her mobile. She didn’t deserve him – she never had. Everyone thought that it was inevitable that Sherlock would hurt her and here she was, being the one who hurt him. 

Eventually, she headed back into Bart’s and she knew that it was only a matter of time before she ran into Sherlock. She didn’t think that he’d do anything as dramatic as demand that she transfer, but she would have gladly done it. She’d have done anything he told her to, if only it would absolve her of some of the guilt she felt. 

He came in two weeks after the debacle at her flat. He was first through the doors, with Lestrade and John right behind him and he seemed to be surprised to see her standing there. He was silent as Lestrade inquired after her health, saying she still didn’t look fully recovered from that little bout of sickness. She waved him off as she dared to glance over to Sherlock, who was simply observing her. 

She gave the men a weak smile and quickly went off to do their bidding. She stood back and watched as Sherlock flitted around the body, leaning in and observing minuscule details that she had noticed but hadn’t been able to piece together – not like he could. He triumphantly announced that the killer was the mother’s banker and then shooed Lestrade and John out the doors, saying that he had business to discuss with Molly. 

Her heart started beating in double-time and her stomach twisted into knots as Greg and John waved to her and left the morgue, leaving her and Sherlock alone. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry for what I did,” she whispered as he turned to her. She folded her arms against her stomach, holding herself as she tried not to cry. “I absolutely betrayed the trust that you placed in me. I broke the rules of our agreement; I took out my anger on you and that was completely unacceptable. I understand if you never want to see me again, but I just wanted you to know that I feel awful.”

“Molly,” he said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. She looked up at him in shock. Sherlock rarely ever touched her, even when they were in the middle of one of their dates. “Stop. Your ridiculous guilt-trip isn’t helping either one of us. I am not permanently damaged in any way. But I am confused. Your rage was out of character and very unexpected.” Molly nodded and looked down at her shoes again, as Sherlock’s grip tightened on her shoulders. “This case should be wrapped up tonight. John will be out with his boring girlfriend. Come to Baker Street; we need to talk.” He said the word with obvious disdain and Molly couldn’t help the small smile that spread across her face. 

“I’ll bring us some food. Chinese?” 

He paused for a moment and then nodded. “Acceptable, although it is wholly unnecessary as a peace offering, Molly. I’m not upset with you.”

She shook her head. “But you should be – you have every right to be. Sherlock, I ignored your safeword! And I slapped you!”

His hands were still on her shoulders and he squeezed her briefly, before letting her go entirely. “Tonight at Baker Street, Molly. We’ll talk then.” She nodded weakly. He then turned on his heel and swept out of the morgue, leaving Molly to her thoughts. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

When Molly arrived at Baker Street that night, Chinese food in hand, Mrs. Hudson was the one to open the door. “Oh! Molly, dear, Sherlock didn’t tell me that you were coming over!” She eyed the brown paper bag warily. “Those aren’t body parts are they? I do wish that you’d stop letting him have those. Can’t be sanitary!”

Molly couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, Mrs. Hudson, it’s just Chinese food. Promise. Is Sherlock in?”

The older lady nodded and stepped aside to let Molly in. “Oh yes, of course he is.” She looked up the stairs briefly and then turned back to Molly. “He hasn’t been himself recently, dear. I’m worried about him. But I’m sure that you’ll be able to cheer him right up.”

Molly wasn’t quite sure what to say in reply to that, but luckily, Sherlock saved her from having to reply. “Mrs. Hudson, for God’s sake will you just let her come up? I’m actually rather famished and I can smell the food from here!”

Mrs. Hudson simply rolled her eyes and Molly failed to suppress her grin. “I suppose we should do as himself requests.” 

Molly giggled. “It was good to see you, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Oh you too, dear. Come around for tea sometime!” she said, as she moved back towards the door to her flat. Molly smiled until Mrs. Hudson was out of sight and then took a deep breath, looking to the stairs. She slowly made her way upstairs, the door to 221b was already open and waiting for her. 

“Finally,” Sherlock said from his chair, just staring at her as she entered the flat, “I’m starved.”

Much to Molly’s surprise, he’d cleaned off the table in the living room and set out some silverware and two plates. What was even more surprising was that he actually took a normal portion of the food that she’d brought. Molly watched, somewhat in amazement, as Sherlock dug into the food. He must have noticed her staring because he smirked and told her loftily that he couldn’t survive on air and interesting cases alone. The comment managed to set her at ease, at least a little bit, and she quietly ate her portion of the meal as well. 

Sherlock chattered on about the case that he had solved for Lestrade and Molly listened attentively, grateful that things seemed almost normal between them. When they were finished, Sherlock cleared the table, leaving Molly to suddenly become uneasy and nervous. She picked at imaginary lint on her trousers as she waited for Sherlock to come back. 

He came out after a few minutes and reclaimed his seat across from her. “I want to start out this conversation by stating that, if you are still amenable, I would like to continue on with our arrangement. What occurred between us in your flat was something extremely out of character for you and I know that it is highly unlikely that such an occurrence would happen again.”

Molly’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, Sherlock.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes, unable to face him as she confessed. “I wanted to hurt you. I let my personal feelings take precedence and I took advantage of you. It was awful of me. I don’t know how you could ever trust me again.”

Sherlock simply quirked an eyebrow at her, her eyes opening just in time to see it. “You show remorse. You’re clearly more affected than I was by your actions. I trust you, Molly. If you say that it will never happen again, it won’t.” He shrugged. “As I stated before, I was well aware that you were upset before we even really started. I could have stopped the scene earlier, before you were worked up, and I didn’t. We both let our personal feelings cloud our judgments.”

“Which is why this shouldn’t happen anymore, Sherlock! It’s getting too personal.”

“It was always personal, Molly,” Sherlock muttered, but before Molly could question what he meant by that, he forged ahead. “I understand why you were upset. I had difficulty processing it during our date, but it all made sense once I left your flat. You were jealous of Irene Adler. You thought that I had engaged her services as a dominatrix to fulfill my needs because you were not adequate.” Molly’s blush told him that he was correct; she didn’t even have to verbally confirm anything. “But that scenario never occurred. Ms. Adler was involved in a case that Mycroft dropped in my lap. I wasn’t acquainted with her on a more intimate level.”

Molly felt like she was going to be sick. “So I completely overreacted and abused you over nothing.”

Sherlock sighed. “Molly, please. Stop. This conversation will not be productive if you do not move past this. We both made some rather large mistakes in that scene. I actually rather enjoy the arrangement that we’ve shared previously and would like to continue with it, but I realize that there are issues that we need to address. This cannot occur if you refuse to communicate with me.”

For a moment, Molly was completely taken aback by Sherlock communicating so eloquently and so kindly. She was used to him talking over everyone’s head, knowing that he was the smartest bloke in the room. This was different. He wanted to have a conversation, wanted to engage with her on her level. About feelings. She was almost certain that she’d stepped into some strange parallel dimension, but instead of asking him for the punchline, she simply nodded. 

Sherlock nodded firmly in return. “I was not involved with Ms. Adler. We played a game. She nearly beat me, but…I prevailed.” For the first time that night, Sherlock looked vaguely uncomfortable. “I will be honest with you, Molly; I find her attractive. But I could never trust her the way that I trust you.”

“I see,” Molly said quietly, fiddling with her hands in her lap. 

“I am confused as to why you simply acted instead of communicating with me. I know that you are a firm proponent of communication in our relationship, as tiring and pedestrian as I find it. Why didn’t you simply ask me, Molly?”

She bit at her lip, looking absolutely anywhere but at Sherlock, whose focus was wholly on her. “I was jealous. And I was still hurt from Christmas…I put it all together; the body at Christmas that you identified was supposed to be Irene Adler. You recognized her naked body.” She finally glanced up at him and shrugged. “And then with her phone, you said that she liked games. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” She gave him a weak smile. “Guess that’s why I’m not the consulting detective.”

“You did relatively well for an amateur,” he said with a sly grin. But the expression faded quickly as he ran her words through his head again. “Still hurt from Christmas?”

“Sherlock, please, not now,” she said, shaking her head. 

“Molly, we cannot continue in our arrangement unless we clear the air.”

Molly stood and starting pacing. Sherlock, much to her surprise, kept quiet and simply watched her, tracking her movements back and forth. She stopped in front of him, her arms wrapped around her waist. “Everything that you deduced about me at Christmas - it was all accurate. You knew when we started this that I found you attractive. I guess I just assumed that you’d realized that my feelings had evolved.” She couldn’t utter the word “love,” not with him sitting there and staring at her. 

She turned her back to him and started pacing again. “It’s fine. After tonight, we don’t have to address it again. And I don’t expect anything from you, Sherlock. I know that you don’t do…all that.” She waved her hand vaguely and turned to him, just in time to see something akin to disappointment flash across his face briefly, before he went blank again. “But if you don’t want to do this anymore with me, I understand. It’s fine.”

“Are you comfortable continuing with our arrangement?” 

She shrugged. “I’ve felt this way for a while, Sherlock. My behavior won’t change. Maybe one day it’ll actually sink in how much of a git you are and my feelings will go away but…” She smiled at him and he reciprocated with one of his own. “I’m fine with it, Sherlock. If you are.”

He nodded. “I enjoy our time together, Molly. My trust is not easy to gain; it’d be tedious to find another Dominant to meet my needs. I’d like to continue with our arrangement.”

Molly smiled at him. “All right. I feel like I should warn you, before our next date, I’d like to go over our terms again.” Sherlock dramatically sighed and rolled his eyes. Molly couldn’t help but giggle. “Does that change your mind at all?”

Sherlock smirked. “Necessary evil, I suppose.” 

“Right. Well…good,” Molly said, nodding to herself. “I should probably go then – I have the early shift tomorrow.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled softly, standing suddenly and just barely invading Molly’s personal space. “I expect that there will be another minor development in the Adler case in a few weeks. Afterwards, I’d like to request a date. Or would you not be comfortable with that?”

Molly shook her head and clenched her hand at her side, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. “No, that’s fine. It’s fine.” She turned on her heel and headed towards the door. Before she reached it though, she spun around to face him again, causing Sherlock to stop abruptly to avoid running into her. “Thank you, Sherlock. For forgiving me and being so nice.”

“Don’t tell anyone. Everyone will start expecting it,” he teased. His expression sobered quickly though and he regarded her carefully. "I am sorry about hurting you at Christmas, Molly," he murmured sincerely. 

Molly bit her lip briefly, before stepping forward and rising up onto her toes, gently kissing his cheek. Her lips only grazed his cheek before she stepped back, her face beet red. “Water under the bridge. Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Molly.”


End file.
